


through the years

by falsealarm



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsealarm/pseuds/falsealarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Laura is 6 when she meets Carmilla for the first time." AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	through the years

**Author's Note:**

> I guess it could be a historical AU, I kind of kept what I liked of the plot and chucked the rest. Timeline pushed up into the 1800's though that's not concrete, just a thought in mind when I was writing.

Laura is 6 when she meets Carmilla for the first time. Her school skirt is pressed into neat pleats and her skin is snow white. She smiles at Laura and offers her hand, curtsies as Laura takes it. Laura tries to mimic her, little legs awkwardly bending into more of hobbled bow than a curtsy and Carmilla laughs but it’s light and full of sunshine so Laura doesn’t mind.

 

Laura is 9 when Carmilla has her over for her first sleepover. Carmilla’s bedroom is lavish, decadent with beautiful silks and soft, warm blankets. Carmilla dons a blanket cape after dinner and reads aloud from a book of pirates. She uses a candlestick as her sword and bounds over furniture as she sword fights an invisible enemy and Laura watches, enraptured. They fall asleep in front of the fire, curled under the same blanket with newspaper pirate hats on their tiny heads.

 

Laura is 12 when Carmilla invites her to summer with her family in France. Their summer home is beautiful, all tall windows and gauzy fabrics. Carmilla pulls her through the garden and they sit by the pond, sip fizzy drinks out of champagne glasses and Laura braids Carmilla’s hair, long black locks like silk beneath her fingers. Carmilla teaches Laura to waltz and they spin around the house wearing Carmilla’s mother’s dresses, smelling like they’ve bathed in perfume, red rouge bright on their cheeks.

 

Laura is 15 when Carmilla kisses her for the first time. They’re in a quiet corner of a ball, bathed in shadows. It is soft and innocent and Carmilla is a little drunk on champagne but she smiles and Laura feels her whole body flush. She hears her name and then Carmilla whirls them back into the open, flits off to grab more champagne and Laura’s father introduces her to slew of bristly old men with gold cuff links and scotch on their breath. Laura can feel Carmilla watching her.

 

Laura is 16 when she kisses Carmilla for the first time. They’re in her father’s library, draped over the same couch and Carmilla is half-asleep, eyes closed and her book lying open against her chest. Laura makes to move it, to save the spine from creasing but when she leans over to take it Carmilla opens her eyes, gives her a sleepy smile and Laura’s heart melts. The kiss is gentle and warm and Carmilla smiles into it, brings a hand up to cup Laura’s cheek and they spend the evening attached to one another.

 

Laura is 17 when Carmilla is betrothed to a weasel masquerading as a man. He has a wiry moustache and smells strongly of cigars, the scent thick and heady hangs around Carmilla for hours after he’s gone and Laura feels sick with it. She and Carmilla take a bath in rose water and Laura washes Carmilla’s hair as she sits in the v of Laura’s legs, warm bath water cocooning them. They sit in front of the fire for long hours afterwards, Carmilla quiet and small against Laura, tears hot against Laura’s neck.

 

Laura is 18 when Carmilla is murdered. She is not there but she feels her heart wrench in her chest as she lies in bed and she dreams of a dark man standing over Carmilla. The news reaches her the following afternoon and she faints on the spot, wakes in her bed but cries herself right back to sleep. She stays in her room for days wearing the silk robe Carmilla gave her for her birthday, reading their summer letters and praying for Carmilla to return to her. Her days are darker.

 

Laura is 19 when she spends her second summer in France, her father at her side. They stay in Paris, visit museums and eat lavish desserts and Laura is overwhelmed by the bustle of the city, the life of it. She’s leaving the private box of a theater with her father when she spots raven hair, pale skin far across the hall and her heart seizes. She wants to run but her father has hold of her arm and before she can think to pry herself loose the girl is gone. Laura dreams of Carmilla’s shining eyes and warm smile, wakes up crying.

 

Laura is 20 when she falls ill. The winter is harsh and she develops a cough that won’t pass, a fever that won’t let her sleep. She is weak with illness and bound to her bed, spends her days reading and drinking tea, coughing into her blankets, her throat raw. When she sleeps she fits, has nightmares and strong fever dreams, wakes with sweat on her brow and her hands fisted in her blankets. The only thing she can remember is Carmilla’s lips on her forehead, a whispered prayer in her ear.

 

Laura is 21 when Carmilla returns to her. She is still ill and her father has gotten her a wheelchair so she can sit in the garden every evening to watch the sunset, light warm against her cool skin. There’s a flash of something in her periphery and she turns slowly to it, arms almost too weak to move the chair by herself. Carmilla looks the same as she did when Laura last saw her, long hair free at her back, skin white but she is silent, watches Laura with a deep sadness in her brown eyes.

 “You came back.” Laura’s voice breaks and her eyes water.

Carmilla is quickly to her, kneeling as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind Laura’s ear, lets her fingers run across Laura’s pale cheek as she whispers, “for you, always.”

Carmilla stays in Laura’s room that night, nestles against her side and whispers to her of adventures across Europe, extravagant parties and nefarious mischief, excitement in her voice. She speaks as if she has simply been away for years, as if she is just returning from her journeys and not from the dead. Laura wants to ask, to know and Carmilla can see it in her eyes.

“I want you to come with me,” she says.

A cough seizes Laura and her body wracks with it but Carmilla does not move from her, keeps her head pressed to Laura’s chest and listens to her lungs as they fit.

“I’m sick,” Laura wipes her mouth messily across the back of her hand, “I can’t leave.”

Carmilla’s hand slides across Laura’s thin rib cage and curls against her side, “what if you could?” It’s a whisper against Laura’s chest.

“I can’t.”

“If I could fix you, make you better.”

“Like you fixed yourself?” It’s as close to Laura’s real question as she can get.

“I didn’t fix myself, that was Maman.”

“Your mother?”

“No, not my real mother,” Carmilla’s voice goes quiet, “Maman saved me and she can save you, I can save you.”

“Is she a doctor?”

“She’s-,” Carmilla stops and her hand slips from Laura’s side as she moves to sit up, she crosses her legs under the blankets and looks down to her hands, fingers the edge of her dress, “we can help you, Laura. That’s all you need to know.”

“How?”

“You aren’t getting better, you won’t get better,” Carmilla’s voice is breaking and she won’t look at Laura, keeps her eyes downcast.

“Carm?” Laura is scared but she knows, she knows there is no chance of her getting better. Doctors have come and gone, one after the other at her father’s behest with the same diagnosis, the same prognosis: she will not get better, she will not live to be 22.

“How will you save me?”

Carmilla does not give details, she does not explain the steps beyond the first: Laura will die and then she will be brought back. There is no how or why, there are only assurances from Carmilla’s red lips, her warm brown eyes and gentle hands on Laura’s cheek, her arm, her chest. Laura leaves a note for her father, hand shaking with exertion as she pens her goodbye in black ink. They have said their goodbyes before, have said them 3 times in the past 6 months but this time it is final and Laura has nothing left to say but “I love you, remember this”.

There is pain in her death, pain and icy cold and blackness and then nothing.

There is nothing until there is Carmilla.


End file.
